


Customary

by Miasmajesty1



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Academy Era, Doctor Who: Academy Era, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4007416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miasmajesty1/pseuds/Miasmajesty1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theta and Koschei burn their work. Alternatively: Theta and Koschei are complete idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Customary

It takes 14 minutes exactly before Koschei flips the table over. Theta knows before it happens, half due to the psychic connection they share, and half due to Koschei’s steely expression; the one that always comes with disaster. Theta gets up and steps away from the table, and pulls his chair with him, and Koschei flips the table over. He doesn’t yell, or foam at the mouth. He’s far too sophisticated for that. In a fluid motion that is removed from anger, he grips the table and upends it, sending papers and test tubes into a heap. He closes his eyes and a few seconds pass. His expression is completely neutral. Theta shoves the few papers that scattered to his feet back into the heap. He doesn't exactly feel upset about all this. The work was boring anyway. There are far more interesting things that they could be doing. Literally anything could be more interesting than academy-set work, he reckons. Minutes pass and neither of them say anything. A mutual unspoken agreement is made as Koschei goes to open one of many cupboard. His raised hand hovers over a few before he picks one and swings the door open. He removes two tall bottles labelled “Hyper-Vodka: Handle With Care™” in large font. He throws one bottle to Theta, who catches it; which is a small miracle in itself; before opening his own bottle. He returns to his place at the upended table and ruined work. Theta recovers from the shock of catching his bottle, through not without a mental message of:  
[Omega’s mercy / Kos did you see that / I caught it / I’m a master of catching things!]  
Koschei glances at him and attempts a withering look, but there's no cruelty in it. Instead, he takes a swing of the drink and tries his hardest to keep his compose through the fire that immediately burns down his throat and into his veins. It’s a losing battle. Theta takes a swing of his and equally tries and fails at keeping his composure. Theta clears his now burning throat, hacking violently. He screws up his nose in disdain, then tips the bottle out over the upended table and ruined work.  
[No saving it now], Koschei says, watching as the liquid spills out of it's compressed container. There is far too much vodka in that bottle. Koschei muses that it's enough to kill about 100 Time Lords from alcohol poisoning, and they're a pretty hardy species. It's practically poison in a bottle. Papers now soaked, Theta fishes in his pocket. He frowns, pushing wires and a half completed screwdriver out away. There. He pulls out a disposable lighter and flicks it on. Koschei takes another sip of the Hyper-Vodka; no, still horrible; and pours his own drink onto their work. Theta waits, tapping his foot impatiently. Koschei, satisfied at his contribution to this disaster, walks away and puts the Hyper-Vodka back. Theta drops the lighter into the mess and whoosh; up it all goes, crackling orange flames consume paper and wood alike. 

Theta hums in approval at the raging fire.  
[Oh hold on / I have an idea], Theta then thinks, going to a different cupboard.  
[An idea? / We’re doomed / Someone call the funeral services], Koschei shoots back sarcastically.  
[Shut up / It’s a good idea], Theta snaps. He removes a tin full of skewers, then a metal tin. The metal tin has a glowing etched gallifreyan symbol on it's side, the concept of production and of self replication. This tin has never ending marshmallows in it. Theta traded a device that boils all eggs within 20 paces for it, and he's not sure why he even made that in the first place. Theta opens the tin, shoves too many marshmallows on a skewer, walks back, then holds it out over the fire.  
“It’s a human custom,” Theta says, out-loud this time. Koschei raises an eyebrow and looks unimpressed.  
“It’s a human custom to burn their delicacies over a fire? How strange,” Koschei says. It doesn’t stop him from taking a skewer and stabbing it through some marshmallows. He mirrors Theta’s action. The marshmallows blacken and crack. Theta smiles and fidgets on the balls of his feet. He blows on one then eats it, burning his mouth in the process. He doesn't flinch.  
"Did you overcook it?" Koschei asks, still looking unimpressed.  
“I don't think this counts as cooking per say. And I'm not sure. It's still good though,” Theta replies after a lengthy period of chewing.  
Koschei retracts his marshmallows and makes a pointed effort of allowing them to cool. Delicately he eats, taking care not to get marshmallow everywhere. He succeeds.  
“They are nice,” he says. Theta nods and goes back to the marshmallow pot. By this point, he has noticed that his bottom lip is burnt.  
“You hurt yourself,” Koschei says, noticing Theta's flinch.  
"No I didn't,” Theta says stubbornly. Koschei follows him to the marshmallow machine and leans up to rest his head on the crook of Theta’s neck. Theta tries not to be surprised, but he is. “You sure you didn't?” Koschei asks, sounding genuinely concerned. Theta finishes skewering the marshmallows he’s taken care to put in an alternating pattern of pink and white; they taste nicer that way. He puts the skewer down, stabbing in into the wooden counter-top and turns around, forcing Koschei to move back.  
“Nope,” he says with a grin. Koschei eyes the marshmallows. He looks up at the still smiling Theta and kisses him, making sure to kiss where he burnt himself. Theta draws breath between his teeth but kisses back. Koschei reaches and grabs the finished marshmallow skewer without breaking the kiss. He abruptly stops and then turns on his heel, taking the stolen prize with him.  
“You sure?” he repeats as he walks away, amusement creeping into his voice.  
Theta touches his lip, then narrows his eyes at the retreating back of the marshmallow thief.  
“I'm not sure yet,” he says, returning to Koschei’s side. His glare is met with a smirk. Koschei eats one of the marshmallows, then after a pause offers the next to Theta. He leans forward and eats the not scalding hot marshmallow.  
"So, you like them then?" Theta says.  
"They're.. not awful," Koschei supplies. Theta rolls his eyes at the avoidance. He then notices that the floor is blackening where the fire rages. It's also getting a little smoke-y. Nothing that need worry them, health-wise, but supervisor-wise..  
"We're definitely going to get reprimanded," Koschei says after eating another marshmallow. He sounds nonchalant. Theta shrugs.  
"Probably. But it doesn't really matter. What can snobby supervisors with the biggest stick up their ass actually do? They can't kick us out. They'll just spout a lot of 'You're a disappointment to the race' and 'You should know better'." Theta says, waving his hand dismissively.  
"They'll only kick you out if you do something really drastic, but I have to wonder if that's your goal," Koschei says, eating the last marshmallow. Theta tilts his head.  
"My goal?" he asks.  
"To get kicked out," Koschei supplies, adding "You'll have to do something incredible stupid. Like steal a TARDIS." Koschei turns to look Theta in the eye at that. He knows his friend's intentions. Very little is hidden between them. But there is surveillance everywhere, and Koschei can hear that cries nearby that the heat signature in the Prydonian side of the Apartments is far higher than it should be.  
"Me? Steal a TARDIS?" Theta cries with faked injury, "How dare you suggest a blasphemous thing!" Koschei chuckles to himself then coughs.  
"No no, of course not. You would never do that," he says, smiling. Theta smiles then laughs too, the both of them caught up in their own private joke of things to come.

The near hysterical supervisors are met with a pair of chuckling renegades, silhouetted by the burning fire of their customary work.

**Author's Note:**

> This was all part of a massive brainstorm on academy era shenanigans. I have a lot of other ideas floating around, so if you want to read them then let me know.


End file.
